


Numb

by mirroredsparrow



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:20:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirroredsparrow/pseuds/mirroredsparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had a hard time trying to get his point across when even he didn't know what he meant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever write things longer than my pinky finger. Probably not.

"It's exhausting."

"What?"

"This. I want to stop."

 

\--

 

"What do you want, fuckface."

"What, can't a dude talk? Fuck."

"You wanted to stop, so we did."

"That's not what I--," he stops, face falling into an irritated grimace, "Fine."

"That's what I fucking thought."

 

\--

 

"...Sorry."

"For wha--" Michael's gaze turns to Ray and goes cold, "Oh. Piss off."

 

\--

 

He wonders, not for the first time, what it's like to feel in average doses.

He laughs. It's hollow and fragile and breaks in his lungs.

 

\--

 

His voice feels broken from disuse each morning, speaking into the mic he croaks out something small and then, with a little bit of 'fuck it' ebbing it's way from the marrow in bones, yells "LLLLLLLET'S PLAY" with such forced enthusiasm it powers through and sounds waxing genuine.

It shocked the others into a laugh, at least.

It became a reoccurring theme.

Ray's little... -isms... the words that first come to mind which are an amalgamation of his experiences up until now passing through a thin filter of self-deprecatory humor... a majority of them become reoccurring themes. Shirts. Memes.

What the fuck.

These people on the internet. Liking shit he says.

What the actual fuck.

A laugh bubbles in his chest exploding in his throat as a half gasp, emotion spill out in a mess in his mouth and swallowed down, harsh like bile. Too late, rushing over him in waves, the positivity tainted by rot in his gut.

Ha.

 

\--

 

It didn't last.

An attempt was made, vague and unsure, faltering and definite in it's failure.

He wonders, in hindsight, if the attempt was the worst part.

 

\--

 

"Yo, Ray."

He didn't believe it would last, not truly, but the sliver of hope left wedged in the innter lining of his gut dislodged and dissolved as he tried to make eye contact with Michael and failed. The negativity bomb lodged inside himself ticks away faintly and he wonders if staying or going is the worst of two options.

He pulls down his headphones, turning slightly to see Michael's gaze. It's too open, too much. Grimacing, he pulls his headphones back on and watches out of the corner of his eye as Michael's gaze flickers between hateful and hurt all at once.

He doesn't hear what Michael grinds out between his teeth before he storms out of the office.

It doesn't matter anymore.

It never matters anymore.

 

\--

 

"Who the fuck do you think you are."

Ray hides in his hoodie and chews on the little nib of plastic at the end of the ties.

He doesn't know. Not anymore.

"...I ...Fuck it."

 

\--

 

"Fix it."

Staring into Geoff's face with little emotion, Ray wonders what there's left to fix.

 

\--

 

"Team Better Friends, get it, because we used to be better friends."

His words taper off slightly and he offers an awkward lopsided grin that's close to falling before Michael barks out a laugh.

"Yeah. That's fucking accurate."

It hurts, deep in his gut, but it feels like release.


End file.
